


Happy New Year

by billyp



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3077480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billyp/pseuds/billyp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale thinks he'll be spending New Year alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight

It was five minutes to midnight.

All across London, glasses were being charged. In homes, televisions were set to Jools Holland and his annual Hootenanny; in the pubs, landlords were watching the clock, ready for the countdown; and on both banks of the Thames, hoards of people jostled with one another for a good position for the firework display.

In the back room of his small bookshop in Soho, Aziraphale - angel, guardian of the Eastern Gate, and part-time rare-book dealer - glanced at the clock. Not that the new year was an exciting thing to him, who had seen over six thousand of them in his time on earth - and of course, what with all the calendars that had been and gone, it was a wonder he wasn't celebrating the new year every other day of the week - but when in Rome, one did as the Romans. Or Londoners, in this case. He put down his crossword and switched on the small portable wireless that he'd had since the late 1930s. Quite often these days he would tune into the digital signal, since the quality was so much better for Radio 3 (and that was a little peculiar, if he thought about it, because he was sure it hadn't picked up DAB when he'd first acquired it), but there was still that irritating time delay, and it wouldn't do to be behind. 

It took him a good minute to get Radio 4 on FM without any distracting crackle, but he got there in the end, and while the wireless chattered its way towards midnight he went through to the kitchenette at the very back and retrieved a half-drunk bottle of red wine - well, it wasn't worth opening champagne when one was alone. He poured himself a modest glass, then went through in time to catch the final countdown.

As the chimes sounded and fireworks began to go off across the city, and nearer at hand horns blared and people tumbled out of the Soho drinking establishments to scream to all and sundry their joy at having survived another year, Aziraphale toasted the new year with a solemnity that would have embarrassed anyone in the room with him, then went across to his desk and picked up the phone. He hesitated over which number to call, but decided that as the demon was likely to be out celebrating, the landline certainly wouldn't get him, whereas the mobile just might. He dialled, waited as it rang, and rang, and eventually gave a click.

"Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. I've not got the phone because I'm busy averting the Apocalypse or something, so leave a message and I'll get back to you. Ciao."

Aziraphale had learned something about answer machines by now, so he waited for the beep that announced he was through to Crowley's voicemail and then, in the manner of all people not used to leaving messages, he froze.

"Crowley! It's…me. That is, Aziraphale. Um. Hello. Um…"

He took a breath, and pulled himself together.

"Well, the reason I was ringing is that…well, I know it's always new year somewhere and…and you're probably out somewhere having a party to celebrate and something, but…but I just wanted to say…Happy New Year, Crowley. I hope it’s a…well, a pleasant year. I'll…see you for dinner soon, I expect. Yes. Well…bye for now. And Happy New Year. Oh. I've already said that once. Sorry. Bye."

He clutched the receiver to his shoulder and closed his eyes, cringing. 

"And a Happy New Year to you, too, angel."

Aziraphale almost dropped the phone, but caught it just in time. He hung up carefully, then turned to see Crowley, black suit, red shirt and sunglasses, propped up casually in the doorway through to the shop, a bottle of champagne and two glasses swinging from one hand.

"Crowley!" he said, trying not to sound too surprised. "And what brings you here? Shouldn't you be out celebrating?"

"But I am," said Crowley, taking off his sunglasses. "I'm here, celebrating with you."

Aziraphale felt his smile couldn't possibly have been wider. 

"Well, you'd better come in, then," was all he said, however, and Crowley smiled his snakish smile and did as he was bid.


	2. 2am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was 2am. The New Year had been on earth for two hours and one angel and one demon had been drinking solidly for both of them…

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, and paused for a moment to summon up his strength for the rest of the sentence. "Crowley?"

"Hmm?"

Aziraphale wondered whether the demon were awake, or asleep and operating on some sort of automated system, like his answering machine. He was on the floor, lying propped against the sofa with his face in its cushions. Aziraphale was in an armchair, mostly. He had a feeling that he was about to slide out of it, and he wasn't entirely sure if he had the requisite strength to pull himself back up before he landed on the floor.

"Crowley?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it still tonight?"

"What?"

"I said, is it still tonight?"

Crowley lifted his head a little, so he could see the angel.

"What other night 's it likely to be?" he demanded. "'S first. January. First of January. H'py New Year!"

"Hurray!" said Aziraphale, raising the glass in his hand to toast the new year, and then he did finally slide onto the floor and Crowley raised his head just enough to laugh at him.

"'s nice down here," he said, and rolled over till his head was on the floor beside Aziraphale's knee. "Ooh," he added from this vantage point. "I can see stars!"

"'s a ceiling," said the fallen angel. "'s definitely a ceiling."

The demon studied it with the air of an astronomer contemplating new and interesting heavenly bodies.

"Then why's the moon there?" he demanded, at length.

Aziraphale looked in the direction of the demon's gaze, and allowed himself a very careful shake of the head.

"That's not a moon," he said. "'s a Fire Exit sign."

"Oh."

"Got to have one. 's the law. Tells you how to get out. You know - in case of fire."

"Oh."

"That's why it's green, you see. Sign, not a moon."

"Oh." Crowley thought about this for a moment. "I thought that was the cheese."

"Mm."

There was a long, drunken, and distinctly pregnant silence.

"The cheese?" said Aziraphale, eventually.

"Moon. 'S made of green cheese."

"No!"

"'S truth. Promise it."

"Since when?"

"Dunno. Since Armageddon probably," said Crowley, and sat up so suddenly he nearly headbutted Aziraphale, who was leaning forward to study the cheese more closely. "C'mon, less 'ave another drink!"

"No," said the angel, moving back out of range. "Too far away."

"What?"

"Drinks." Aziraphale pointed at the table. "On table. Far away."

"Rubbish," said Crowley. "Got one right here!" And with a small gesture, like Aziraphale himself performing a conjuring trick, the demon produced a bottle of wine.

"Hurray!" cried Aziraphale, and he propped himself next to Crowley, who had wedged himself upright against the sofa and was already drinking out of the bottle. "C'mon! Share and share alike!"

"Pah," said Crowley, clutching the wine jealously. "'S mine. You're always making me be nice."

"Rubbish," said the angel, wresting the bottle from his hands and wiping the neck on his sleeve. "I'm selflessly shaving…saving you from too mush ineb…inebli…from getting drunk, dear boy."

"Too late for that," said Crowley, and his head sagged onto the angel's shoulder. 

Aziraphale looked down at the drooping demon, then patted him absently and took another swig from the bottle.


	3. 5am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What year is it, again?"

“I think I’m starting to sober up,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley grunted.

“How? You bottle. Got. You got. Nngh.”

“I know,” said Aziraphale, handing the bottle back to the demon. “And I’ve been drinking, but my head’s gone clear of a sudden. I think I’ve gone all the way round back to sobriety again. It’s very curious.”

“Curioshy and curiosher,” burbled Crowley, then swayed alarmingly and fell back against Aziraphale.

"Oh dear," he said, in an unaccustomed burst of politeness. Then his eyes drifted closed and he curled up against the angel, who looked down at him with all the curiosity of a gardener who has found a rare and delicate orchid in the middle of a bed of radishes. 

"You need to go to bed," he observed.

"Bed's far away. Stay here."

"You can't stay on me. Come on. Up! Or you’ll be on the floor tonight." 

"Floor's nice," protested Crowley, resisting the angel's attempts to raise him. "Stay here."

"If you sober up," said Aziraphale, temptingly, "then you can go home and sleep in your own bed."

Crowley concentrated briefly, then shook his head. 

"Can't. F'gotten.” His yellow eyes widened in sudden and inebriated distress. “Do something, angel!"

The angel tried. He really did.

"Oh dear," he said, eventually. “Maybe I’m not sober after all. I seem to have lost the use of my miracles, my dear.”

Crowley flopped his head back onto Aziraphale's shoulder. 

"Sssso drunk…"

"You'd better have the sofa," said the angel. "I've a feeling sleep will be the only answer to this."

With an effort, he hauled Crowley up and they both collapsed onto the sofa, which was small and saggy, rather like Aziraphale himself, as Crowley had observed in one of his nastier moods. Tonight he was quite the opposite. He clung to Aziraphale when the angel tried to detach him, shaking his head earnestly.

"Nonono, angel, don't go! Got s'mthing important to tell you."

"Oh?"

"'s…'s…"

"Sushi?"

"Not sushi! Shuttup! 's important!"

"Tell me, then."

Crowley looked into the angel's eyes, his slit pupils dilating with the intensity of his gaze. There was a long pause.

"What year is it?" he said, at length. 

Aziraphale blinked. 

"It's 2015," he said.

"Oh," said Crowley. "Good." The intensity of his gaze relaxed and he smiled and shook Aziraphale’s arm gently. "Angel, I wanted to say…wanted to say that I love…I love……Nnngh."

And he fell forwards across Aziraphale's lap, and began to snore. 

The angel sat back for a few moments, then laughed quietly and ran a hand through Crowley's black hair.

"Oh yes, me too, my dear," he said. “Me too.” 

And then his own head sagged and, to his drowsy astonishment, he, too, fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zomg so much fluff. I love that it doesn't feel like a cliche with these two...

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley (c) Gaiman and Pratchett, natch. 
> 
> I'm writing a much bigger work based on GO, but this is a little taster to help me get started.


End file.
